Apologia (Stories Told in Dreams)
by ArkTaisch
Summary: Sometimes it helps to get a change of perspective. Belle wakes up from the Sleeping Curse, and it's Rumple's turn to take a nap. (Post season 5 fix-it)
1. A meeting in the Netherworld

**Author's Notes:** This show. Gah. I just binge-watched seasons 1-5. Season 4 was just... so much grrr... and season 5 was just as bad except for a few high points. I really wanna smack some of these characters. Or the writers. (Really, Snow? Belle hasn't been threatened enough times that you have to deliberately manufacture yet another round of "villain gets leverage against the Dark One so we can haz Plotz!" Or was that some twisted subconscious attempt to get his attention and assistance? Don't complain then if the deal doesn't work out favorably for you! Sheesh.) And enough with the Rumbelle yo-yo. Belle is turning into Milah 2.0. Next thing we know Rumple will be 3 for 3 exes murdered. *facepalms* Anyway, it was distracting me, so I had to get this out before Season 6 crushes my soul.

* * *

 _Belle. Belle, listen to me._

She was asleep. She knew that, even as she stood in the room walled with mirrors, a single torch casting just enough light for her to see her own reflections. The whispers never ceased, but for the first time, she could distinguish words. His voice. How was she hearing his voice? She whispered, "Rumple?"

 _Sweetheart, it's time for you to waken up._

"My father —"

 _No, not your father. But never mind that. Before you go, I wanted you to understand. Please. I've lied to you, because I was so afraid... but I was wrong. If we don't have honesty, we have nothing at all._

She spun, trying to follow the sound of his voice. Her image wavered in the mirrors, darkened. Was there someone else? Shadowy images flickered in the background. She reached out, but touched only glass. "Where are you?"

 _It doesn't matter. I made a deal..._

"A deal! What deal?"

 _More than one, actually_. A ghost of laughter reached her ears. _As usual. But listen, you're safe, you and our child. Free. That's the important part_.

"But what about you? Rumple, what have you done? More dark magic?" She shuddered. She had believed once that he could be a hero of the light, but at every turn, he had only revealed more dark corners. How could he ever be free of it if he refused to let it go?

 _Only what I had to do_.

"Why? Why do you love the darkness?" The words burst out of her as tears came to her eyes. Why did this shadow have to come between them? "Why do you crave power?" She hadn't asked him then, back in the underworld library, but now, lost in the cursed sleep, in endless dreams, she needed to know.

 _That's what I wanted you to understand_. Suddenly he seemed close enough that she could feel his weary sigh brushing across the back of her neck, but when she turned, there was no one there. Then even his voice dissipated, leaving his life, his heart, in splintered images smeared across the dark mirrors of the netherworld. It was as if she was inside his thoughts, seeing his memories through his own eyes.

If he had power, maybe his father wouldn't have discarded him like a piece of trash clinging to his shoe.

If he had power, he could have ended the Ogres War, instead of crippling himself so that his newborn son would not have to grow up fatherless.

If he had power, he could have saved his son's life without having to trade away his future child to the healer whose price he could not afford.

If he had power, he could have saved his son from the war. He could have saved all the children.

If he had power, he could have saved his wife from the pirates, instead of once again making the coward's choice for the sake of not leaving his child fatherless. It was only when he did have power that he could force honesty from his wife; the painful truth was that she had abandoned them of her own free will. If he had power, perhaps she would not have left him in the first place.

In fairy tales, the hero helps an old beggar and is rewarded by the powers of Light. In his story, because he was no hero, he was rewarded with a second chance at murder in order to save his son. By then, he was desperate enough to make that choice. Zoso, the former Dark One, had goaded him into it, but it had been Rumplestiltskin's decision to kill him.

And he couldn't regret it, even now. He had saved his son. He had saved all the children. Ended the war. But all magic comes at a price, and his price was losing the one person he loved most. Because once he had taken up the power of the Dark One, he could no longer put it down. Not even for Bae.

There, too, he was given a second chance. Finally re-united with his son after centuries of remorse, he had done his best to make amends and sacrificed himself to save those he loved.

If only it had ended there. He found himself dragged back from death only to find that his son had blindly traded his own life for his father's. Rumplestiltskin saved him the only way he knew how, holding onto his son as tightly as he could. But in the process, he had to let go of the dagger, the Dark One's dagger that held his curse and his power. His son's life was preserved. But he lost everything else.

What virtue was there in weakness? For once, he had chosen love over power, but fate's punishment was harsher than ever.

He became Zelena's slave. Zelena, the Wicked Witch of the West. For months, he was held in her cage, unable to lift a finger against her, forced to attack others at her command.

In the end, he lost Bae. This time, forever. Magic could not bring back the dead. That was one law he knew better than to break. After Bae's death, he had no defense at all against Zelena's will. None. She could use him as she would. And she did.

When Zelena was defeated, he resolved never to let anyone hold such power over him again. No matter what it took.

He failed, twice over.

 _Villains don't get happy endings_. He was stripped of power and darkness, only to wake up as the prisoner of the new Dark One. Nothing more than a tool to be shaped to her purpose. Without power, he couldn't protect Belle from her, couldn't protect anyone. He could only let himself be used.

What virtue was there in weakness?

He could have taken it back. The first time he held Killian Jones at the point of Excalibur, he could have run the pirate through and become the Dark One again. He hadn't.

And still, Belle had left him.

Worse, the pirate had used him to summon the shades of the former Dark Ones. They would drag him and a dozen others into hell, and he was powerless to stop it. His son had already died. Now his grandson was marked with doom. What was his "heroism" worth then? There was nothing left for him to do except send Belle away, then sit in his shop and wait for death. Alone.

So when the opportunity presented itself to take back the power, he took it. Of course he did. That was who he was. After so many centuries, the darkness fit comfortably into his soul. Its unending vicious rage and paranoia were no longer enough to drive him to murder or madness. Twenty-eight years as Mr. Gold had given him a reserve of sanity large enough to balance the Dark — an unexpected benefit of the curse that had brought them to the Land Without Magic.

The heroes were predictably angry.

Just as predictably, not ten seconds after confirming her suspicions, the Savior had been demanding magical favors of him: a trip to the underworld to save Killian Jones, her beloved.

The Dark One knew better than to use magic to bring back the dead, but the rules were different for heroes. Divine intervention was something else again. More than magic. But magic was what he had. He would not give it up again.

And Belle? Belle was not so different as she thought. Looking into the dark mirrors, she saw again her first meeting with Rumplestiltskin, this time through his eyes.

When he walked into that room that day, he saw them. All the lords and officers, the people with power in that kingdom. And then there was her. He knew who had truly sent for him, no matter what the messages said. The Dark One always knew who summoned him. He knew how to recognize a desperate soul.

So he offered her the choice. Gave _her_ the power to save her people.

 _It's forever, dearie_.

She had agreed. _She had agreed_. And in the darkness of his memories, there was a flicker of light, the first recognition of a kindred spirit. She looked into her own eyes and saw that they had been the same, once.

The shock echoed through her. Even as she clung to that moment of understanding, light blazed across her vision. The mirrors faded back into the dark. And Belle opened her eyes to see...

...her husband. Asleep.


	2. Dealing With Dream

"Rumple!" Belle shook him frantically, but there was not a twitch of response. She had woken up beside him in a strange bed in a strange house; well, not so much a bed as a low wooden platform covered with a couple of heavy woolen blankets and not so much a house as a hovel built out of stone and rough timbers. A hovel with a dirt floor, as she discovered when she sat up properly and took stock of her surroundings. Sunlight slanted in through a window and an open doorway, illuminating dust and a barely furnished room. "What is this place?"

"You might call it a shrine," came the answer from the doorway. A man moved into the open frame: tall and thin, his skin unnaturally white while his eyes and ragged clothes were the color of raw night.

"A shrine?" Belle peered at the stranger in bewilderment. "To whom?"

"To me." The man stepped inside. "I am Morpheus."

"The Shaper!" gasped Belle in recognition. He was the god of dreams.

The man bent his head in acknowledgement. "And you, of course, are the Lady Belle." He gestured. "Just as he is Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One."

She moved protectively in front of her sleeping husband. "Did you — did you do this to him?"

Morpheus shrugged elegantly. "He came here. He summoned me and requested that I wake you and give you my protection."

"How? There is no cure for the Sleeping Curse except..." Belle bit her lip and glanced down at Rumple's face. Asleep, he looked all too human, nothing like the demon that had terrorized the Enchanted Forest. Unable to resist a sudden stab of hope, she bent down, closing her eyes as she pressed her lips against his.

"He will not wake." The cold voice of Morpheus shattered her thoughts. "We made an agreement. Even without true love's kiss, an exchange can be made, if I permit it. He is in my domain now, and thus a great evil has been removed from the world. Why would you wish him awake?"

Belle threw up her head and glared at the god of dreams. "I love him!" But it wasn't enough, whether it was her failing or his: true love's kiss had not worked for them this time. "I still... love him."

"This is a love that will only darken your soul," Morpheus said. "If you stay with him, he will make a monster of you."

"No!" Belle shook her head, but her traitorous thoughts could not help but agree with Morpheus. The images from the netherworld flashed again through her mind. Fate had driven an innocent spinner down a dark path, a darkness that had swallowed everyone around him.

"How many monsters has he created?" Morpheus pressed on relentlessly. "Consider his students: Cora, Regina, Zelena. Even Prince James: born a shepherd, but raised to become a murderer due to Rumplestiltskin's meddling."

"They made their own choices," argued Belle. "He didn't force them to be villains."

"But he manipulated them. Showed them the way, pushed them to take that first step. Then the next. And the next. Even Snow White killed for him. Even you."

"Gaston... but Rumple didn't make me do that," insisted Belle. "I was the one who stopped Rumple..."

"He had time to spare, if he truly meant to throw Gaston into the River of Souls. Instead, he waited. Waited for you to find him."

"No. No, he never meant for me to...he couldn't have." She shivered. The cold words of the god of dreams cast a shadow across her heart. Was he telling the truth? Or was this some trick? Hades had been their enemy. What about Morpheus?

"'Intent is meaningless.' Do you know who likes to say that? _He_ does. It doesn't matter what he wants. Darkness corrupts everything he does or doesn't do."

"No. I don't believe that. I won't." Belle wrapped her hands around Rumplestiltskin's right hand and held it tightly. "There is good in him."

"Leave him. This is the only peace he can have, his best ending. Leave him now, and the world will call you a hero."

"I can't leave him like this. He sacrificed himself for me, for our child."

"Will you let your child grow up in darkness?"

Belle dropped her gaze, but she didn't release her grip on her husband's hand. "I don't know if I can stay with him. But that doesn't mean I won't fight for him." She took a deep breath, gathering her resolve before she was able to continue. "He... he made a deal with you? Then let me make one, too. What price do you want for waking him up?"

Morpheus was silent for a long time. Belle waited, praying that he would not refuse her. Finally, he spoke again. "There is one thing."

"What?" breathed Belle.

"The Hourglass of Chronos. It was taken from me long ago and hidden away in a domain whose very nature is inimical to my own. If you retrieve it for me, I can use it to revive him."

Belle frowned. No matter how many books she read, there was always more obscure lore than she could keep up with. She had never heard of this 'Hourglass of Chronos'. "Where is it?"

"In the Land Without Stories."

She had never heard of that, either. "So, I find this hourglass for you, and you promise to wake up Rumplestiltskin?"

"Yes. We are agreed, then?"

There was no question. Belle nodded firmly. "Yes."

"There are no roads there," Morpheus warned her. "You must make your own path, paving it step by step, word by word, with stories."

"What stories?"

"All your stories. One place is the same as any other in that land. Without stories, there is no difference, no meaning. Therefore you must create your own, and that is the road that will lead you to your destination."

"But how will I know which way to go?" Belle shook her head, still not sure what Morpheus meant. "Is there a map?"

"If you love him, you will find a way. As long as you care, your heart will guide you." Morpheus gestured at the back wall of his shrine. A vortex of white light opened up.

Belle took a tentative step forward, recognizing a portal when she saw one. "How far away is it to the hourglass?"

"How long is a piece of string?"

"Oh, well, _that's_ a helpful answer." Belle rolled her eyes. "So what happens if I run out of stories before I find the Hourglass of Chronos?"

"Then you must retrace your path back to the portal."

"And give up my quest? No! I would never do that. That's not what a hero does," insisted Belle.

"Then you will be lost forever. If you leave the path, you become nothing but a random cloud of meaningless events," said Morpheus dispassionately. "Not even your shade will remain."

Belle stared into the portal. "Then I won't let that happen." She took another step forward. "I have a good memory and a lifetime of books. Let's hope that's enough."

"One more thing. Should your throat feel dry..." Morpheus reached into the air and drew out a waterskin. "Water from the springs of Yggdrasil. May it bring you wisdom and luck."

Belle hesitated before accepting it. "And the price?"

Morpheus shook his head. "Your husband has already paid. I promised to protect you, and this is the only protection I can extend to you while you are in that land."

Belle sighed. "Fine." She took the waterskin and looped its strap around her neck. "Right. Here goes."


	3. The road to understanding

_The road to understanding is paved with stories_

* * *

It was like stepping into a whirling kaleidoscope.

Belle couldn't see anything clearly. Images flashed by her eyes without resolving into anything comprehensible, coming in quick gusts like leaves in a storm. Lights, colors, shapes, patterns — every time she thought she recognized something, it twisted away out of focus before she could even establish its scale, whether it was large or small, near or far.

She felt nothing but air on her skin, heard nothing but air in her ears. She wondered what she was standing on, but looking down only made her dizzy. Looking back, she saw the reassuring circular swirl of the portal. She had to restrain herself from reaching out for it. She still had a job to do. But where? Even her sense of up and down was becoming confused.

"Let your heart guide you," she said under her breath. As if in response, a hint of definition, gray and darker gray, began to appear under her feet. She blinked, half-expecting it to vanish, but it persisted. She took a tentative step forward, but her foot came down in emptiness. Right. She needed a story. She remembered the book that had caused Gaston so much grief. She wished... no, that was useless. She hadn't been wrong to believe in goodness and compassion, had she? How could that be wrong? "This is the story of 'Her Handsome Hero'..."

As she began the familiar tale, rainbow-like lines of color solidified, seeming to absorb strength from her words. Belle tried walking forward, and when the path did not collapse under her, broke out into a wide smile. She _could_ do this. She _would_ succeed. Her voice became more confident as she continued speaking and moving forward.

By the time she finished, the portal was lost in the distance behind her, hidden by the chaotic swirl of random images that filled this realm. She paused long enough to take a sip from the waterskin. It tasted clear, neither warm nor cold, sliding down her throat with just a slight hint of enchantment. She guessed at the effects as the magic flowed through her body: refreshment and mental clarity. Her memories felt closer than ever, sharper and more detailed.

Belle launched into a new story, then another. There was no sign yet of her destination, but she hadn't expected it to be that easy, so she was not discouraged. She spoke of heroes and villains, knights and dragons, beggars and witches and evil queens, following the path of her words deeper and deeper into the alien realm.

She lost track of time. It seemed to her that she should feel hungry, yet she didn't. Nor did she feel any urge to sleep. It was only her mind that grew weary from recounting tale after tale. Only the enchanted water kept her voice from going hoarse with overuse. All the stories began to blur together. There was good, and there was evil. The hero went on a journey, overcame obstacles, acting with honor and compassion, and emerged victorious. The monsters were defeated, the king returned to his throne, the countryside set right. The princess met her prince; true love prevailed.

In the end, she didn't know how many stories she had flung out into the Land Without Stories. All that she knew was that she had come to the end of the stories she knew, yet there was nothing in sight except more chaos. No hourglass. Despair gripped her. She had come this far; how could she fail now? She clutched the waterskin, now nearly empty.

"No. I won't give up." She wracked her brains for more stories. But there were no more. She was only a mortal, and the number of books she had read in her lifetime was finite. Her lifetime... her lifetime! Belle laughed, suddenly inspired. "Once upon a time, in a little kingdom in the Enchanted Forest, there lived a girl named Belle..."

Buoyed by her new insight, she continued forward, telling the story of her own life. It was not as long as some, but by the time she told of her adventures in the Dark Castle and afterwards, all the way to her re-union with Rumplestiltskin, she realized that she now had his stories as well. And with a life that had spanned centuries, surely that would be enough for her to reach the object of her quest?

"Once upon a time, there was a motherless boy who lived with his father," began Belle. "His father was a drunkard, a coward, and a cheat, making a paltry living by using sleight of hand to trick others out of their money."

Seeing again the images that Rumple had shown her in the Netherworld, Belle wove them together into a story. She told of how the boy's father had abandoned him for eternal youth and magic, becoming Peter Pan, the cruel ruler of Neverland. The boy had been taken in by two kind-hearted spinsters. Growing up, he had vowed to be a better man, one who would love his children and never ever abandon them. In time, he had married a woman from his village. It might not have been true love, but Rumplestiltskin and Milah had been happy enough at first. He hadn't been wealthy, but his spinning earned enough for a peasant's hovel and a meagre living.

Then came the first Ogres War. The spinner had joined the Duke's army, eager to prove himself a hero. Instead, he had limped home with a self-inflicted wound. He had crippled himself, afraid that the battlefield would be his death. Word traveled faster than a man with a broken foot; his wife had met him with a face full of scorn. His joy at holding his newborn son was forever tainted with the knowledge that he was a coward.

As the words left her mouth, Belle stopped herself. No, there was more to it. "There was a girl, a seer. She told him that his actions on the battlefield that day would leave his son fatherless. He didn't believe her at first, but when her other predictions came true, he was convinced."

Milah had not been. As far as she was concerned, that was merely the feeble excuse of a coward. Her husband had disappointed her, dealing a fatal blow to their marriage. After that, she had sneered at his uselessness, resentment building as the months and years wore on. Belle saw in her mind's eye how even his brief moments of happiness, playing with his son, were viewed as weakness by his wife. More evidence of his cowardice. He had become a burden she was shackled to. She almost wished he had died in the war, which would have left her free.

Belle found herself appalled at Milah's heartlessness, yet she could also sympathize with being married to a man who couldn't, or wouldn't, live up to what she wanted him to be. "He ran away from the battle. That isn't what a hero does, is it?" But was that enough reason to condemn him? He wasn't a character in one of her books.

It wasn't exactly cowardice. As Belle told the story, she began to see him in a new light. Rumplestiltskin weighed the odds with great care, making his decisions based on what was most important to him. In the end, he put more value on his family than on the Duke's war or on being a hero. It took a different kind of courage to bear the shame of being branded a coward, to be despised by his entire village, including his own wife. And when his wife had been taken by the pirates, he weighed the odds again, a crippled peasant against a ship full of well-armed fighters, and retreated. He chose to return to his son rather than risk losing everything. He could only pray for his wife to forgive him.

It wasn't the fear of death that governed his actions. At his best, it was his sense of responsibility, and at his worst, his desire to control his destiny. Even in the time that Belle had known him, he had faced death willingly twice, once when it would save those he loved and once when it was only his own life at stake.

And it had not been cowardice to refuse to murder a man, especially a healer, whose loss could mean the deaths of all those patients he might someday have saved. To condemn them all for the sake of his own child would have been an act of selfishness. Milah had not cared, but Rumplestiltskin hadn't wanted his son to grow up with a murderer for a father, however futile that hope had turned out in the end.

"He did make a mistake," Belle said, now aware of the details that Rumple had left out when he initially told her that Hades had a claim on their child. "But it wasn't in making the deal to trade a second-born child who didn't exist in return for the life of the son he already had. His mistake was to try to erase the deal by killing the man who held the contract. Rumple could have renegotiated the terms with the healer, who was not an evil man. But instead he sent him to Hades, who was not nearly so generous..."

Belle shut her eyes, contemplating for a moment what might have been. Then she shook her head and continued, her words painting the next segment of her path.

"He is a murderer," Belle admitted, the judgement sounding harsher once she said it aloud. She mourned the kindhearted spinner, but that man was long gone. Blame it on fate, on his first wife (whom he had killed!), on the seer who had twisted his path with her prophecies, on his own fear — it didn't matter, in the end. "But he's hardly the only one. It doesn't mean that I can't forgive him, or that he can't become a better man."

He had tried. He had always tried. Belle took another breath, then began the story of the first Ogres War. It had dragged on for almost two decades. With each passing year, the Duke of the Frontlands had taken his recruits younger and younger. Fourteen. Baelfire had been fourteen when the Duke's knights came for him. That night, Rumplestiltskin had been desperate enough to steal a magic dagger and kill a man. In the morning, he had killed many more. And then he had gone to the battlefield.

He ended the war with a truce. It wasn't only the human children he saved, but also the ogre children. As the Dark One, he could have slaughtered them all, but he hadn't. Even as a monster, he had shown more mercy than the human warlords might have wished.

If he had stopped there, he might have been hailed as a hero. But he hadn't.

He had hurt too many people, until even his own son couldn't recognize his father anymore. Given a chance to start over, Rumplestiltskin had instead chosen his power as the Dark One and lost his child to the Land Without Magic. It was a mistake he regretted for the rest of his life. For the next three centuries, he had devoted himself to finding Baelfire, no matter what it took. He created a curse powerful enough to tear the world asunder and shaped a villain ruthless enough to cast that curse.

"That was his darkest deed," said Belle. "Thousands of lives ripped away and trapped in a foreign land without memory or time. All of this, in order to see his son again."

Then she remembered another scene she had witnessed. "The first time he thought he had found Baelfire, that was one of the happiest moments of his life. Thinking that they could be reconciled at last, he even dug up his dagger and gave it to his son to destroy."

Belle sighed. "But... it was all a trick. It wasn't his son at all, but someone wanting to control him in order to use his power. No wonder that he clung to it even more tightly after that."

She paused and peered forward, but saw no lessening of the chaos. How much further could the hourglass be hidden? She took a sip of water, then continued with a story about the puppets that had haunted first the Dark Castle, then the Storybrooke pawn shop.

In her role as caretaker in the castle, Belle had dusted them dutifully, suppressing her instinctive revulsion. Their sad, bulging eyes exuded horror. She had been afraid to ask. But now she knew. Her voice faltered briefly as she remembered the visions revealed in the dark mirrors of the netherworld. Rumplestiltskin hadn't kept them around for any magical purposes. They were only puppets, once innocent people, victims of one of his potions. A deal gone awry. He kept them out of guilt. They reminded him that Dark One or not, seer or not, he was fallible.

He had intended the potion for another pair of targets, ones he had hated for a long time. They reminded him too much of his own father: swindlers, thieves, liars, cheats. They treated their own son with a contempt that dredged up all of Rumplestiltskin's memories of abuse and abandonment. His father was now out of reach in Neverland, too powerful for even the Dark One to fight, but these two... ah, how he burned to kill them.

Except he had rules now, a self-imposed code that limited the harm he did.

 _You hurt people all the time_. That was one of the last things his son had told him before he lost him. So Rumplestiltskin had done his best to rein in the darkness, restricting his aggression to those that directly threatened him, stole from him, or broke a deal. Otherwise he left others free to accept or refuse his deals, to do harm or to refrain. And these two thieving puppeteers were oh so careful never to steal from _him_ , never to cheat _him_ , never to cross _him_.

When their son Jiminy had appealed to him, Rumplestiltskin had seen his chance and taken it, finding grim irony in making literal puppets of the vile couple who manipulated their own child like a marionette. But the deal had backfired. The puppeteers were too clever, their son too honest, and the price had been paid by two innocents. Another child, Geppetto, was left orphaned.

Before Rumplestiltskin could intervene, Reul Ghorm, the Blue Fairy, had stepped in. Her help, as usual, came too late. The fairies were the patrons of the noble houses, and their attention was focused on those they deemed important. They had not helped Morraine or any of the other commoners drafted to die in the Ogres War. The Blue Fairy had only answered Baelfire because of his link to the Dark One, and it was the same for the puppeteers' boy. She didn't deign to help Jiminy free himself until after Geppetto's parents were dead.

"Rumple always did try to help people," said Belle, a little hoarsely. She took a tiny sip of water, knowing that less than a mouthful remained. "Since he never asks for gold, his price is as easy or as hard to meet as he chooses. It makes no difference whether he deals with a king or a beggar. If he didn't have such a dreadful reputation, there'd be no end of people queuing up on his doorstep. _I_ think he tried to scare them away on purpose. Because it's true that magic does come with a cost, and it's rarely what you think it is."

Especially when what he used was dark magic, magic fueled by anger and hate.

"Why?" Belle couldn't help asking the question again. "Why couldn't he use light magic instead?"

She saw again the young pretender, the miller's daughter who had the audacity to bluff her way into the king's ballroom. Saw how she had been caught and humiliated, locked away in a tower until she could spin straw into gold. Through the dark mirror's memories, she felt Rumplestiltskin's pity and anger on the girl's behalf.

The world was full of injustice. Kings and queens could burn a whole village on a whim; commoners had no protection but the goodwill of their rulers. Children could be ripped from their parents and sent to die on the battlefield. The people who had power drew lines and assigned labels as they pleased: coward, peasant, cripple, monster, beast, crocodile, miller's daughter, Dark One, villain, slave, weapon. If he didn't feel anger, he would drown under the weight of all their contempt. It was anger that drove change, for better or worse. Darkness was tempered by light, as he well knew, but at its base, his power was born from rage. In Cora, he had recognized the same rage.

As she told Cora's story, Belle found herself wondering what would have happened if the miller's daughter's ambition had been a shade weaker and her love a shade stronger. Would Cora and Rumple have found true love? If they had borne a daughter together, would he have trained her to cast the Dark Curse? She had never met Cora herself, but Belle saw, in Rumple's memories, the poisonous woman she had become after marrying into the aristocracy.

"Dark magic consumed her soul," concluded Belle. "And in the end it was dark magic that killed her." Would that be Rumple's fate? He had nearly died once, his heart blackened to its core. The Apprentice had drained that corruption away, but Rumple had taken it back. Could he really balance darkness and light now? Cora had been selfish, but Rumplestiltskin had originally wanted to wield his power for good. Perhaps anger was sometimes justified.

Her mouth parched, Belle shook out the last drops of water from the waterskin and swallowed them. What story remained for her to tell? Only their more recent past, which she had avoided so far, as it was all so painful. But perhaps there was no avoiding it. She spoke of Zelena and what had befallen in the aftermath of her schemes. Then of marriage and betrayal, exile and return. After a moment of hope that he was free of the darkness, she had found her husband again in the Underworld only to learn the truth.

She had told him she couldn't condone his darkness, yet that was a lie, wasn't it? Speaking of it now, she remembered that there was a part of herself she had suppressed until now, when the enchanted water brought all her memories to the surface.

"There was a time when I _wanted_ him to be dark," she admitted. "When I was Lacey." She wasn't Lacey, she refused to be Lacey, and she had buried her Cursed identity in the bottom of her mind out of shame — but it was no use. She couldn't deny that part of herself reveled in darkness. Perhaps everyone (except for those magically purged of it) had that somewhere inside themselves. Belle had tried to lock it away, because it wasn't heroic, and she had tried all her life to be a Hero. And then she had wanted her True Love to be a Hero, too.

"But he isn't, is he? He never dealt in labels: those were always words other people threw at him. He deals in names. Names are what he knows." Belle thought through the implications, wincing at the memory of herself calling him "coward". How that must have stung, coming from someone he loved. "A name unique to each individual, in all their faults and glory."

At first she didn't notice that her eyes had focused on the same point ahead of her for the last thirty seconds. Then she realized that there was an edge, a fixed image of some kind in the midst of the chaos. Her breath caught — could it be? She forced herself to continue.

"And that's why I'm here. Not to be a hero, or to save a villain, but because I love someone, and he needs my help." She closed her eyes, taking another step forward. She swallowed, then whispered, hoping it would suffice, "Rumplestiltskin."

When she opened her eyes again, the edges had coalesced into a floating shape just under a foot high and a few inches around.

Belle reached out automatically. Her fingers closed on the first solid object she had seen since she had walked through the portal. She looked down at what she held: a white frame, carved out of something as smooth and hard as ivory, enclosing a pair of glass cones joined at the points, half filled with black sand. The Hourglass of Chronos. She had found it at last.


	4. Choices

Belle staggered back through the portal, half-collapsing against the wall of the shrine. The brilliant swirling light dimmed as the opening closed with a whoosh behind her. She didn't have the energy to turn and look. It was all she could do to stay upright, even with the support of the wall. It had been a long, long walk back through the Land Without Stories. Now her feet hurt and her knees were wobbling. She wearily lifted her right arm, the mystical hourglass clutched in her fist, and proffered it to Morpheus. "Here. You said you would wake him."

The god of dreams reached out, long delicate fingers extracting the hourglass from Belle. He held it up and peered at it, the black sand sliding down as he tilted it sideways. "Indeed."

He took his time about it. Belle bit her lip, swallowing her impulse to urge him to hurry up. It was probably not a good idea to irritate a deity. Morpheus stood at the head of the bed. He held the hourglass a few feet above Rumplestiltskin's heart. The sand shimmered an unearthly violet. Then Morpheus flipped the hourglass over. Rays of light shot out and bathed the sleeping figure.

Rumplestiltskin twitched violently, then sat up with an incoherent cry. He raised a hand reflexively, fingers curled as if about to cast some spell.

"Rumple!" Belle pushed herself off the wall and started towards her husband. Then her weakness betrayed her, her legs giving way underneath her.

Rumplestiltskin lunged forward just in time to catch her before she slid to the floor. He turned an angry gaze towards Morpheus. Even as he supported Belle with one arm, his other was raised, dagger in hand. "What have you done? You promised to protect her!"

"She is alive and will soon recover." The god's face was as expressionless as ever. He took a step back and slid the hourglass inside his robe.

"The Hourglass of Chronos," snapped Rumplestiltskin. "Don't think I don't know where it was hidden. And you sent Belle _there_!"

"It was my decision." Belle's fingers closed around Rumplestiltskin's wrist. "Don't blame Morpheus."

"The risk— " Rumplestiltskin began unhappily.

"Worth it." Belle pulled at his arm, and he relented enough to stow the dagger away again. "I'm fine. Just tired."

Before Rumplestiltskin could reply, Morpheus said to him, "I promised to protect her while you slept. As you are awake now, the terms of our agreement have been completed. Good day." The god of dreams vanished into a streak of blackness that seemed to dissipate into motes of dust.

"So Morpheus has the hourglass now," muttered Rumplestiltskin. He eased Belle onto the bed.

"Is that bad? What will he do with it?" She drew up her legs and sat on the bed, relieved to have the weight off her feet. She tugged her shoes off and dropped them on the floor.

"Who knows? Here, let me." Rumplestiltskin hovered over her, waving a hand over her body. She felt the tingle of magic easing her sore muscles. "It's similar in effect to Zelena's time travel spell, but creates alternatives, remakes, sequels, and sidesteps. Slightly safer to use, but in the hands of the irresponsible... well, if we're lucky, the god of dreams isn't a fool."

Belle glanced over at his face. By his expression, he wasn't holding out much hope, but he didn't seem unduly worried, either. "Rumple, when I was under the Sleeping Curse, I saw... saw all those things..."

"Yes. Well. When you said you had always known who I was, I realized that wasn't strictly true, because there's so much I hid from you. From everyone." He sighed and looked away. Then he straightened, beginning a restless circuit around the shrine. "After all my lies, I don't blame you for not trusting me. That's... that's why I wanted to show you everything. I don't usually share my past with people, but I owed you that much at least."

"I understand." She reached out as his path took him by the bed again. "And I _want_ to trust you, Rumple. It's just hard, sometimes."

He stopped, catching her fingers, his expression enigmatic. "I didn't expect to see you again. That made it simpler. But here you are, having risked everything for my sake. Thank you, sweetheart." He bent his head down and kissed her hand lightly. "It means the world to me. But..."

"But?" Belle could feel the tension in his body, right before he drew away.

He looked at her gravely. With a wave of his hand, a sheet of paper poofed audibly into existence. It unscrolled down from his fingers, just like any number of similar sheets which he once used to write out his contracts. He sat down on the other end of the bed, setting the paper in between the two of them.

As Belle read the neatly printed words, a cold shock pierced her. A divorce contract! It was written to conform to the laws of the Enchanted Forest, since they had been married under their old identities rather than the names the Curse had given them. She stared at the blank lines where their signatures were to go; at least he had not signed it yet. She glanced up, speechless.

"I'm tired, Belle." His voice was soft, almost inaudible. He met her eyes, and she realized that he was on the verge of tears. "We can't keep on like this, back and forth and back again, each of us unable to fully believe in the other. I can't do it anymore."

And she could see it. The past few years had worn heavily on him. He had suffered loss, captivity, enslavement, and almost died more than once. He _had_ died. Then he had gone again into the Underworld and barely escaped with their lives. Even now, he had the look of someone who knew that his time had run out, and was only clinging to life by his fingertips. Another push from the person he loved could send him over the edge.

"But a divorce?" Belle's voice broke and tears stung her own eyes. She longed to hold him and offer him comfort, but she didn't dare, with the paper set out so starkly between them. "Is that what you want?"

"Of course not. But it may be for the best. If I had ended things earlier with Milah, we might have averted that bit of tragedy."

"I'm not Milah!"

"But sometimes it feels like it." Rumplestiltskin looked at her, pain clouding his eyes.

Belle was stunned again into silence.

"When we were in the Underworld, I met her shade," he continued, his gaze shifting as he focused on the distant past. "I remembered, then, how it was for us. How we began, and how we ended. I could never be the man she wanted, either."

Belle stared at him wordlessly. She had seen his bitter memories of his first marriage, heard the contemptuous voice of his first wife ringing in his ears. Belle was nothing like her, was she? She loved Rumplestiltskin, would never treat him so cruelly. Then she remembered taking his dagger and forcing her husband into exile, lame and penniless and without magic.

But he had been consumed by darkness. He had been about to crush Hook's heart. Things were different now. He was trying to be a good man, even as the Dark One. He wasn't lying to her anymore.

Then another memory thrust itself into her mind, sharpened perhaps by the lingering effects of Morpheus's enchanted water. She heard her own voice, certain, uncompromising, speaking to Rumple, saying...

 _That's not what a hero does_.

 _You want a future with me? You_ _ **have**_ _to do this my way._

 _You'll only make me do something else I regret_.

And then she had walked out on him, finding his honesty as difficult to cope with as his lies. Left him alone, again. How many times had she done that? How must he have felt, hoping each time that she would return, but afraid that this time she wouldn't? She lowered her eyes, whispering, "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"It doesn't matter." He paused, and didn't say, "Intent is meaningless," but she heard it in his silence. Then he said, "But my feelings are irrelevant."

"How can you say that?" She risked another glance at him, saw the broken look on his face.

"Because you were right. If you stay with me, your soul will be darkened." His tone was resigned, sad. "My beautiful Belle, you don't deserve that. That's why I always knew that you would leave in the end. It was unfair of me to tie your fate to mine, and then to keep you there with lies. I'm sorry. I truly am."

Belle touched the contract gingerly. She gulped. "And this? If we... if we do this, what... what will you do?"

"That depends on you."

"Me?"

"I'll take you wherever you want to be," he said gently. "And I'll find somewhere to stay, close enough to be there for our child, far enough that you won't be disturbed by my presence. And you... you can move on. Live. Love. Travel, as you always wanted to do."

"And after our child is grown?" she asked, remembering that the Dark One was immortal.

"The day before I became the Dark One, I told Bae I would use that power for good." He grimaced. "Instead, I unleashed the Dark Curse, and all the evils that led up to it."

"You weren't doing it to hurt people," Belle couldn't help defending him, when he refused to do it for himself. "It was the only way for you to find Baelfire again."

"But people were hurt, nevertheless." His voice turned harsh, unforgiving. "So. Someday, I'll go back to the Enchanted Forest. Do everything I can to set things right. To help people. Bae would have wanted me to do that. I'll wait until the day you no longer need me, then—"

"Don't!" Impulsively, Belle reached out to touch his forearm, ignoring the paper barrier between them. "Don't wait."

"What?" Rumple glanced at her in confusion. His arm tensed under her touch, and she felt his uncertainty as he twisted to face her more fully.

She explained, "I'll go with you."

His eyes went wide and startled. His hand lifted to grab hers. "What are you saying?"

"I had time to think, when I was in the Land Without Stories. About who we really are. Not heroes, not monsters, just two people." Belle saw his expression shift for an instant before he forced all hope out of his features. They had come to this, then. Hope had turned into something he dreaded. "I can't see the future, but I know that I want it to be with you. Not the illusion that I married, but the true person sitting before me now."

"You don't mean it," he said. His grip tightened as Belle began to protest. "Maybe you mean it now. But when you see too much darkness — when I do something you can't condone — your heart will pull away and your hand will reach for the dagger."

Belle flinched. She had used it more than once to try to control him, to her shame.

"Shhh," said Rumplestiltskin. He released her hand and reached out to touch her shoulder gently. "I don't blame you. Your nature is light, not dark. You want me to do good, hoping goodness will follow."

"But it was wrong to try to force you," said Belle. "I didn't realize what it was like for you, before."

"Yes, from the outside, it looks quite the dramatic gesture, doesn't it?" He half-smiled for a moment. "But you could just _ask_ me."

"And accept the possibility that you might refuse. I know," said Belle. She knew that he could have controlled her just as easily using magic, yet beyond the times he had cast a sleep on her to hide his lies, he never took away her own choices. Not even to stop her from pricking herself with the needle of the Sleeping Curse. It was time she extended the same trust to him.

"But can you accept the possibility of me darkening your soul? Making you do something you regret?" He obviously remembered her words as keenly as she did, the ones she had spoken in her guilt at having pushed Gaston into the River of Souls.

"Rumple. You can't darken my soul." She met his eyes clearly, willing him to believe her. It had been her decision, from the very beginning, to invite darkness into her life. She had asked the Dark One to save her family and her people from the ogres. And he had, using dark magic, as she had known he would. If he had handed her his dagger and offered her the same chance Zoso had offered him, she might have been desperate enough to take it. The price Rumple had exacted from her was negligible compared to that curse. "Whatever choices I make are my own responsibility."

"And as for mine..." He slid the dagger out of his jacket and laid it across the divorce contract. "It may be the wrong choice as you see it, but it _is_ my choice."

"Power," said Belle. "I know. I accept that."

"Do you?"

"It's part of who you are, now," said Belle. "But thinking about it, it isn't even really about power, is it? Or you would be a king or emperor by now. You say 'power' but what you really mean is _magic_."

"It's one of the two things in my life I was ever good at," said Rumplestiltskin. "And there's not much call for spinning these days. They have machines for that now."

"You also have an eye for clothing," she said, thinking wistfully of the outfits he had conjured the day after their wedding. "If you ever retire from sorcery, I'm sure you could make a career in the fashion industry."

He picked up the dagger and pretended to study it. He asked carefully, "Is that what you want? For me to give up magic?"

"No. I'm not asking that." Belle watched him put the dagger away. "If that were, say, a violin, and it was music that you had been studying for three hundred years, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. You'd have all my admiration for your skill and dedication."

"But it's not music." His expression was serious as he looked at her. "It's dark magic, dearie."

"I know. And I think... I think I can accept that, as long as you don't use it for evil." That was the conclusion she had come to. Only one thing still troubled her. "But it's the darkness that makes you enjoy hurting people."

"Yes," confessed Rumplestiltskin. "Yes. But only the ones who deserve it."

"In your opinion."

"Obviously, in my opinion."

"But that's not the whole truth, is it?" Belle had seen into his memories, and she remembered the times he had wholly given in to the darkness.

"It's the truth that matters," he told her now. "Sometimes it's necessary to hurt people. For example, when they're trying to kill you. Why _not_ enjoy it?"

"It makes you a sadistic thug, looking for people who 'deserve' to suffer!"

Rumplestiltskin smiled crookedly. "I suppose that's why I'm rarely invited to parties. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry for what I did to your father. And I'll try not to do anything like that again."

"Regina lied to you," said Belle, remembering. Then, "But she's supposed to be a hero now. She even used light magic against Zelena. If _Regina_ can do it, why can't you?"

"Why can't _you_?" returned Rumplestiltskin.

"What? But I'm not..." She wasn't magically gifted, not like Regina's family, nor was she a child of True Love.

"You could learn. I could teach you," Rumplestiltskin offered. He hesitated, then stammered, "If... if we stayed together, that is. We'd... we'd have time."

"I'd... I'd like that," Belle whispered. Her eyes drifted to the divorce contract again. No. She wouldn't sign it. Their love was worth fighting for, and this time she would not lose sight of who it was that she loved. "Rumple..."

"Belle..." He stopped, his expression as uncertain as ever. Hope and fear struggled with no clear winner.

On an impulse, Belle closed the distance between them, the contract swept aside as she wrapped her arms around her husband and drew him in to kiss him fiercely. He reacted as he always had, initially freezing in panic, then slowly gaining enough confidence to kiss her back. She held him tightly, hoping in her heart that some day, he would have enough faith in their love not to be surprised by it. She knew now that it would not be easy for them to gain that faith. It had never been easy.

Rumplestiltskin broke away at last, enough to murmur, "No divorce, then?"

"No. No more lies, either," Belle answered. "No matter how ugly the truth is, I won't run away from it. Whatever happens, we can face it together."

"Together," sighed Rumplestiltskin. He leaned forward and picked up the fallen divorce contract. "You know we're bound to make mistakes."

"That's life," agreed Belle. "But together, we're stronger."

"Your optimism continues to astound me," said Rumplestiltskin. "Well, then, where should we go — together? The Enchanted Forest?"

"No, we should stop by Storybrooke, first," she said.

He raised his eyebrows at that. "Storybrooke? Why? It's not as if I have to collect the rent anymore."

"I should talk to my father," explained Belle. "And see our friends before we leave."

"Your friends, maybe." Rumplestiltskin scowled. At Belle's questioning look, he said angrily, "Ah, you didn't know. The Charmings sold you out to one of my enemies — told him that you were my wife, and that you were pregnant and under a Sleeping Curse. Practically an invitation to kidnap you. Which he promptly did."

"What?" Belle bit back her alarm. She was free, now, wasn't she? "What did you do?"

"You should be pleased: I didn't kill him. We made a deal. I signed over all my property in Storybrooke except for my house and shop, and he returned you and told me where to find Morpheus." Rumplestiltskin smirked suddenly. "I also opened a portal, so now Mr. Hyde is in Storybrooke. I hope they enjoy their new landlord!"

"Wait, what's he going to do to them? Rumple, we have to help them!" Whatever the Charmings had said to this Mr. Hyde, Belle couldn't believe that they had intended to harm her. There must be some mistake, she thought, knowing her husband's temper and cynical views.

"Regina and Miss Swan are perfectly capable of handling whatever threat Hyde may pose to the town," Rumple assured her, but Belle wasn't convinced.

"What if they aren't? We have to go back."

"It's probably a mistake," grumbled Rumplestiltskin, but he conceded the point.

Belle hugged him fondly. "Thank you." She cast a glance at the divorce contract. "Are you keeping that?" If he meant to keep it until the next time... did he still not believe her? She held her breath, waiting for his response, all her hopes hanging in the balance. Memories of their past confrontations echoed between them.

 _I was already in love...why wasn't it good enough?_ she had asked him once.

And he had said, _Because I didn't believe it. Who could ever love me?_

But in the Underworld library, he had told her, _We can have what's important: family, happiness. It's your choice_.

Rumplestiltskin studied her face for a long moment. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. With a flick of his wrist, he set flames racing down the contract. A second later, ashes floated to the ground. "No. No need."

He believed. She had chosen.

They would never let anything come between them again.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** So there we have it. Rumple has to stay the Dark One, because, let's face it, everyone else sucks at it. And we need the Dark One to maintain the balance in the Force! As for RumBelle, I don't know if I believe it either, but hey, I tried my best.

Thanks for reading! I appreciate any comments and kudos you care to leave.

Now go away and read a book, or whatever it is you like to do...


End file.
